


Twin High Maintenance Machines

by CanonCannon



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Coming In Pants, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Premature Ejaculation, Sexual Inexperience, Smut, Some angst, inexperienced Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8877559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/pseuds/CanonCannon
Summary: Prompt: ColdIt’s freezing outside and Jesus isn’t dressed for the weather, standing there shivering in track pants and a baseball jersey, his feet shoved into his unlaced boot without the added protection of any socks. It's still very early in the morning. The Alexandrians must have barely gotten through the gates when Daryl came bursting into his trailer, seeming overexcited. So Jesus hustled outside to see what all the fuss was about, and… well. He sees it now.Note: first chapter is all innocent fluff, second chapter is all... not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zuotian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuotian/gifts).



> The title is from a Mountain Goats song, but nothing else in the fic is.
> 
> Second square for the Desus Writing Group's Holiday Bingo Challenge :)

Jesus knows he looks like an idiot, but he cannot stop staring and he cannot pick his jaw off the floor.

It’s freezing outside and he isn’t dressed for the weather, standing there shivering in track pants and a baseball jersey, his feet shoved into his unlaced boots without the added protection of any socks. It's still very early in the morning. The Alexandrians must have barely gotten through the gates when Daryl came bursting into his trailer, seeming overexcited. So Jesus hustled outside to see what all the fuss was about, and… well. He sees it now.

Daryl fidgets like a little boy next to him, obviously uncomfortable. It takes a long moment for Jesus to register that the man is anxious, of all things, like he’s expecting rejection. On cue the hunter sighs, “Ya don’t like it. ’S fine. Just, you’ve been borrowin’ mine when ya go to Oceanside, so I thought…” he trails off, scratching his ear.

“God, Daryl, are you joking? Of _course_ I like it, I’m just speechless. It’s gorgeous. Where on earth did you find it?” Jesus breathes out all at once, running his hands along the chrome handlebars gently like he’s afraid they’ll break. The bike is polished and shiny. Even the tires look like they belong in an old world showroom. Crouching down to touch one, Jesus wonders how Daryl managed to keep the motorcycle so clean on the trip from Alexandria. He looks up and notices that the red handkerchief shoved in Daryl’s back pocket looks grimier than usual, and he thinks he has his answer.

The bike is perfect for him. It’s significantly smaller than the one Daryl rides, which he’s sure was intentional; when he first learned to ride he’d embarrassed himself a couple of times trying to control the larger, heavier machine. This one is light and speedy. There’s hard saddlebags for carrying supplies and a light gray helmet hanging from one handlebar by a small, circular rearview mirror.

Daryl never wears a helmet, but he’d found one for Jesus.

Suddenly the scout has a lump in his throat.

The redneck has gone from boyish anxiety to boyish eagerness—zero to sixty in mere seconds, Jesus thinks with small smile. “Had the frame and most of the parts already, just sittin’ in Aaron’s garage. Only real trouble was findin’ the tank protector, wanted a carbon fiber one… just found it on a run up near the Kingdom last week. It’s a single cylinder, four stroke, 500 cc engine…” and on and on he goes, pointing out features Jesus knows literally nothing about. The scout watches intently as gibberish mechanical words freeze into small clouds in the frigid air. Jesus doesn’t think he’s ever seen Daryl this excited, and he _knows_ he’s never seen the quiet man so visibly, so obviously proud of himself.

Jesus decides right then that they’ve been tiptoeing around this thing between them for long enough.

Decision made, he nevertheless waits quietly and patiently for Daryl to finish talking about calipers and multi-plate clutches, whatever the hell those are. Jesus’s teeth are chattering and a light flurry of snow is dusting both of their uncovered heads, but the scout truly doesn’t mind freezing his ass off at the moment—he’d stay out in the cold for hours to watch Daryl geek out over his present.

Eventually the older man winds down.

“You have anywhere you need to be right now?” Jesus asks, trying for offhand, except he can’t quite keep the emotion out of his voice when he looks at the beautiful bike in front of his trailer and the beautiful man who built it for him. “I want to put this in the garage—the leather is pristine, I don’t want it sitting out in the snow—but after that, do you want to come in for some cocoa?”

Daryl nods, grinning his awkward half-grin when Jesus mentions the leather. Just like that he’s off again, talking about where he found the seat and how he had Carl try it out before welding it into place to ensure Jesus’s feet would be ideally placed for the pedals. So that’s two Alexandrians who had been enlisted to help with his present, since Daryl used parts Aaron had in his garage. Jesus wonders how many others knew about the extravagant gift.

“Is Carl seriously the same height as me now?” he asks, pretending to be horrified.

“Little taller,” Daryl snorts, and Jesus grins a bit manically, because Daryl’s paid close enough attention to know.

Jesus’s trailer is right by the old barn they use as a garage, so it doesn’t take long to wheel the motorcycle around. Daryl shoves open the creaky door and Jesus carefully pushes the bike into a corner, away from the collection of trucks and cars to ensure it won’t be scratched or damaged by a clumsy driver.

“Ya alright?” the redneck asks as Jesus rubs his hands together, taking one last look at his new motorcycle before Daryl closes the barn door.

“Yeah, just a little cold. C’mon, let’s warm up inside.”

Back in the trailer, Jesus doesn’t even pretend to start making hot cocoa. As soon as the door is closed he pushes Daryl against it, freezing hands cradling that scruffy face.

The hunter looks surprised, shocked even. He gets out one trembling “Jesus-” before Jesus leans up and kisses him firmly, with pure adoration, solid and unflinching.

If Daryl was anyone else the scout would think he wasn’t into it—he's standing stock still, breathing alarmingly fast, with his hands pressing flat against the door behind him. But Daryl isn’t anyone else, and Jesus knows him well by now. Daryl wants this, he’s wanted it for maybe as long as Jesus has. He just never expected to actually get it.

When Jesus moves from his lips to his cheek, Daryl takes advantage of the space to ask uneasily, “What are ya doin', Paul?”

“Warming us up,” Jesus replies, smiling.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharp turn into a bit of angst and a lot of smut.

But flirting is the wrong move, apparently.

“Nah. Don’t- I can’t-”

Stepping back immediately, the scout frowns. Daryl stays flat against the door like he’s trying to vanish through it. He’s hard in his jeans but shaking his head, a crushed look on his face. “Talk to me,” Jesus whispers, giving the man some space but not backing away enough for him to feel rejected. “Do you not… not like kissing?”

The hunter groans and balls up his fists, tilting his head to the ceiling.

“Or…” Jesus swallows painfully, confidence draining, “Is it me? Do you not like kissing me?”

“Not _like_ … ya fuckin’ blind or somethin’? I just, I can’t, man, alright? Not if ya don’t- not because we’re fuckin'  _cold_ , or-” Daryl can’t get a sentence out, but he’s already said enough.

“Hey,” Jesus interrupts sharply, winding a hand into snow-damp hair and leaning firmly against Daryl’s hard body. “It’s not to get warm. That was a stupid thing to say, ok? I’m not looking for, for something casual, or for a one-time thing. I care about you, Daryl. I want you. I want to… to be your boyfriend, if you’ll let me. If you want that. And we don’t have to kiss if you don’t-”

Daryl kisses him, arms coming around the younger man’s shoulders, one hand in his hair and one on his back. Relief coursing through him, Jesus traces chapped, cold lips with his tongue. Daryl opens his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do afterwards; his tongue stays back as Jesus’s presses forward.

It takes time to coax Daryl into really kissing him, and even then the kisses are… terrible, actually. The older man has no clue what he’s doing. Jesus can feel his beard getting damp.

Fortunately he doesn’t give a fuck, not when Daryl is practically shaking apart in his arms. Jesus shifts his weight even closer, feeling the line of the other man’s dick pressing into the soft cotton of his shirt. He doesn’t want to pressure Daryl, but the man’s body is clearly demanding release.

“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly, breaking their slobbery kiss for a moment. He bites at the older man’s ear a little, just to see what happens.

Daryl hisses sharply on an inhale, nodding frantically.

As soon as Jesus gets his hand over the hunter’s sizable cock, gently stroking through his jeans, that’s it. Whimpering, Daryl throws his head back and comes, a wet spot forming as he moans out a loud “Paul!” that stretches for several syllables.

Jesus has always had a thing for guys saying his name during sex. Also, Daryl looks wrecked, slouched against the door with his crotch covered in his own come. It all adds up to the scout feeling too turned on to attempt anything fancy, even if he thought Daryl could handle it.

Instead Jesus whips his dick out of his track bottoms and spits into his hand, stroking quickly over the hot skin and mouthing sloppily at his new lover’s throat. After a few moments Daryl’s gigantic, rough hand takes over, clumsy and too slow, but by then it doesn’t make a shred of difference—Jesus is already there, spilling onto the black button-down Daryl stole from him months ago.

Afterwards the two men stay close, knees unsteady. Jesus pulls his pants back up again and rests his forehead on Daryl’s broad chest, smiling helplessly when the taller man kisses him softly on the forehead.

“Did ya mean it?” the hunter asks, panting, still sounding like he expects rejection.

“Hell yes I did,” the scout replies forcefully, looking up.

The answer doesn’t calm Daryl, though; if anything he trembles harder, blinking rapidly.

“Hey,” Jesus says, recognizing the overwhelmed reaction for what it is, “Sit down. I’m going to dig out some clothes for you and make cocoa for real this time, not just as a ploy to have my wicked way with you. And I want to hear more about my kick-ass bike. Can we take it for a spin if it warms up later?”

Daryl nods slowly, moving towards the table. “Don’t gotta wait unless the snow picked up, them tires got good tread…” and he starts talking, albeit a little haltingly, about the tires.

Facing his dresser, Jesus grins broadly, not understanding a damn word.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Even if he hates it, this is dedicated to Oxeyegen for 1) organizing this challenge and 2) being absurdly kind.


End file.
